


Fluorescent Adolescent

by Rebness



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Asshole Jesse, Origin Story, remember when you used to be a rascal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-03
Updated: 2014-05-26
Packaged: 2018-01-21 18:55:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1560590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rebness/pseuds/Rebness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the final stretch of high school and Jesse Pinkman couldn't care less. He just has to deal with Mr. White, his parents and a box before he's done.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Jesse glances at the clock in the hallway. Nearly 2pm. His mother is probably out shopping for groceries, and Jake won't be back from kindergarten for another couple of hours. Perfect. Time enough for a good jerk off and mowing down pedestrians in _Grand Theft Auto_ before dinner.  He slings his coat onto the bannister and trudges up the stairs.

He lets out an audible gasp when his mother appears at the top, her arms folded judiciously, a frown on her face.

'Why are you here?' she demands.

'Um, I _live_ here?' he retorts, throwing his arms wide open.

'You're supposed to be at school.'

'It's a free period,' he says with a shrug. Lying to her has become second nature to him now, and he doesn't blink as the words trip from his tongue. 'They want us to focus on our finals, so we gotta do reading at home--'

She holds up a hand, forestalling him. 'I had your principal on the phone this morning. You haven't shown up for a week.'

He sighs, lowers his head. It looks like this calls for a performance. 'It's like... I'm _stressed_ , is all. I'm worried about my future and... and passing and stuff...'

'Don't you try that with me now,' she snaps. 'If you were worried, you'd turn up for school!'

'Jesus, gimme a break!'

He pushes past her, shoulders slumped as she follows him down the hallway, threatening to tell his father (his stomach sinks at this; when did he lose her? What happened to her protecting him from his father's cold dissection of his character?). He closes the door in her face and locks it, which she expects. She stands in the hallway, delivering her speech about all the sacrifices they've made and what he has become, which he expects. He switches on the TV and turns the sound up as the Playstation kicks into life. He's a badass now, stealing cars and mowing down cops, not some _waster_ who can't listen to his mother's words because they still sting even though they're dumb.  
  
~

Night has fallen when he awakens from the post-masturbation nap he promised himself. He wanders downstairs, creeping past the den where the rest of his family is gathered, watching a documentary. He skulks into the kitchen and retrieves a plate of food from the fridge, grateful that his mother has put something from dinner aside for him.

He doesn't bother to heat it up again; just shoves the worthy greens and the thirty-day aged beef medallions into his mouth. He eats quickly, hoping that he can sneak back upstairs and save himself a lecture. He considers leaving the plate unwashed on the table, but then he doesn't want to piss his mother off any more or worse, regret leaving him something to eat and be punished for it next time he sleeps through dinner. He washes it hastily, then the fork, and lays them gingerly on the counter before leaving the kitchen. Inevitably, he is spotted.

'Jesse!' comes the happy cry from the den.  

'Hey, buddy!' He reaches out as Jake runs into his arms, laughing. He hoists him up and twirls him around. Jake shrieks with delight, his legs flailing as they play.  

'Be careful!' scolds his mother as she emerges from the den, her husband close behind. She reaches for Jake and pulls him into her arms.

His father frowns. 'Do you have to be so childish with him?'

'I'm sure he didn't mean it,' says his mother. She gives Jake a kiss on his nose; he giggles happily. 'Let's give you a bath, mister.' She casts a meaningful look at her husband, and walks away.

'So...' begins Jesse. 'I'm just, uh... I'm really tired. I'm just gonna go back to bed.'  

His father gestures to the stairs. 'By all means. Let's go and have a little talk.'

He mutters swear words under his breath as he follows his father back upstairs, to his room where _of course_ he's been too fucking stupid to hide the half-finished cigarette he'd rested on the windowsill. His father notices it straight away, and strides over, picks it up gingerly between his fingers and scowls.

'Really? This again?'

He reaches for the cigarette, but his father pulls away from him. 'Dad, it's just -- it's just a normal cigarette!'

'Do you think I'm stupid? In the first place, I can _smell_ it on you,' says his father. 'How can you expose Jake to it?'

'Jesus, it's not like it's _toxic_ or anything!'

'Language!' His father shuts the door behind them, shaking his head as Jesse throws himself back onto the bed sullenly. He picks up a baseball from the nightstand and plays with it while his father holds court.

His father paces the floor. 'Listen to me. No -- don't roll your eyes at me -- you _listen_ to me. We both know you've lost interest in your studies. You've enjoyed systematically destroying your academic chances one by one. But you have to _graduate_ , do you understand? What hope is there for you otherwise? Do you think those idiots you're always with will end up CEO of some Fortune 500 company?'

'Why would they want that?' he says sullenly. 'Maybe they, like, look around and don't want to sell their soul to The Man.' He's not quite sure who The Man is, but it has the desired effect on his father, who practically spits with fury:

'I don't care about what they want! We're talking about you!'

Jesse looks up at him. 'Yeah, like always.'

His father sighs. 'Let's not go through this again. There's time enough to figure things out _after_ you graduate. Can't you just try to do a little more than scrape by? Jesse, look. Just promise me you'll go to school tomorrow. Promise me you'll try.'

'All right,' he says, because he can't  stand this tone, he just can't. 'I'll go.'

'Good.' His father nods his head. 'Yes, good. Well, good night.' He leaves the room hastily, shutting the door behind him. Even the Talks are truncated these days, and Jesse supposes he's grateful for that: it makes it easier for them all.

In the other room, his mother reads to Jake. He leans back against his pillows, baffled by the surge of incoherent sadness which overcomes him. He rolls the ball back and forth between his hands as she recites the poem he knows by rote:

  
'... _How many slices in a bread?_  
 _Depends how you cut it._  
 _How much good inside a day?_  
 _Depends how good you live 'em._  
 _How much love inside a friend?_  
 _Depends how much you give 'em.'_

  
He stares at the door, swallowing the lump in his throat because he realises why he feels hollow: throughout that entire speech, his father hadn't looked him in the eyes once.  
  
**  
'I'm just saying I can't handle math today, is all.' Badger comes to a halt as they round the corner and the school comes into view. 'I can't have Mrs. Garcia harshing my vibe again. I just can't. She's a _bitch_ , Jesse.'

He throws back his head.  'Don't do this to me, man. You're supposed to be supportive or something, not pushin' on me. Well, till after class.'

'I don't give a shit about trigonometry! We spent three weeks on it already! Why do I hafta suffer just because you are? I just want to get high, is all.' He kicks at the sun-baked sidewalk, a small cloud of dust bursting before his sneakers.

 'I know. But I've got to like _turn up_ today or my dad's going to go apeshit on me.'

Badger scoffs. 'What's he gonna do? No, wait -- what's he going to do if you do turn up? Give you a medal?'

'No, but--'

'Come on, let's just get outta here. I'm not in the mood for all this today.'

Jesse considers. Badger's right:  Mrs. Garcia _is_ a total bitch, and he really doesn't give a damn about trigonometry, so really he should leave school before lunch time. But then, he has chemistry at 11am and nothing will harsh _his_ vibe more than having to put up with Mr. White being a pain in the ass, so really he should just turn up, get marked present by one teacher and then split. Luckily, his first lesson is his favourite: woodworking. He doesn't tell Badger he _wants_ to go to that goddamn class today because he'd never hear the end of it.

He leans forward, attempts to clap his friend on the shoulders but suspects he has actually just slapped Badger's nipples, if that pained expression is any indication. 'Here's what we'll do,' he says. 'We'll turn up for one class today, right? Get marked in, be totally into it -- I mean, what's your first class today, anyway?'

'History,' Badger mumbles. 'It's not so bad, I guess.'

'Okay, and then we'll get the fuck out of here after, right? Go hang out with Emilio?'

'Emilio's a douche, man.'

Jesse's a little stung by that, because Emilio is as cool as fuck, and anyway, he never says anything mean about Skinny Pete, and if one were ever going to make a comment, it should really be about Skinny Pete.  'He knows where to get good shit. Just deal with it.'

Badger shrugs. 'All right. But you owe me. Unless we're doing Manifest Destiny, because I'm totally into that.'

'Manifest _what_?'

'That's what you get for taking vo-tech lessons, loser.'

  
~

He makes it to his first class on time, for once.  He loses his slump and his scowl as he stalks over to his locker, filled with purpose. He takes out his supplies, the chassis he worked on last week, and plonks everything down at his workstation as he prepares his safety goggles and apron.

He sings under his breath as he gets started, shutting out the world around him. This bitch isn't going to defeat him this time. It's his third attempt and he's already displeased with the way he's sanded the right side of the box, but it's certainly an improvement on the last two embarrassments.

Mr. Pike makes his way around the room, commenting on each student's work, offering suggestions. He pauses at Jesse's bench and nods slightly. 'Better, Pinkman. Definitely better. You -- watch how you pull that together. Maybe don't go with screws this time. Maybe pegas.'

He holds Mr. Pike's gaze, listening to him earnestly. 'Yeah, okay. Yeah, that's probably better for -- like, to hold it together--'

Mr. Pike gives him an approving nod and wanders away.

'Hell yeah, bitch,' he mutters to the box. 'I'm going to fix you up good.'

 

**

'Hey, stranger. Where've you been?'

Jesse grins at aunt Ginny. She's sitting on a folding chair on the grass verge beside the driveway with a beer, looking like she doesn't have a care in the world. It's a sharp contrast to that awful day just a week earlier, where she'd collapsed and been rushed to hospital for a brace of tests. He'd hated that, hating seeing the strongest person in his life brought low by her own body.

'Oh, just around, you know...' he sits on the grass next to her and takes the beer she offers. Aunt Ginny is cool like that; no lectures or patronising sermons on the dangers of teenage drinking. It's been a very hot day, and the sunset over Albuquerque is fiery, lending a flattering glow to his aunt's face. It makes her seem almost serene.

'I hear you've been quite the little asshole lately.'

He smirks. 'They got to you already, huh?'

'They mean well.' She gives a little laugh when he turns towards her, his face full of cynicism. 'They _do_. Go easy on my sister, you punk.' She reaches down and ruffles his hair.

'Whatever, man.' He pushes her hand away fondly. 'Anyway, how're things? You been back to the hospital yet?' Something quickens within him. 'You're okay, right?'

'I go in Tuesday for the results.' She strokes her neck contemplatively. 'I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm not excited about it, you know. It's just good to know what the hell is going on.'

He nods. 'It musta been scary.'

'The future's always scary,' she says. She takes a swig of her drink, stares off for some time before she speaks again. 'You just have to face it.'

'Yeah, I guess,' he says. But he doesn't mean it. He intends to enjoy it one day at a time instead of worrying; make each day good and all that stuff like in the poem.


	2. Chapter 2

'Why are you letting it drip like that, moron?' 

'I'm not _letting_ it drip,' says Badger. 'It just _is_ because of gravity.' 

'No, how many times do I gotta tell you!' says Jesse. He grabs the can of spray paint from Badger in a fury. 'Look, it's dripping over the lettering now. You've just messed up the entire tag!' 

Badger shrugs defensively. 'Maybe if you didn't get so worked up about it--' 

'Just fix it,' says Emilio. He leans back against the wall, surveying the damage wrought by Badger's unsteady hand. 'Fucking amateurs.' 

'Hey, hey! Amat _eur_. Singular.' Jesse points towards his own handiwork. He's proud of his lettering, how he's achieved soft fading shadows. It looks good. 

Badger shuffles his feet. 'Anyway, it's like Van Gogh, isn't it? People were all sayin' how his paintings looked like kid's drawings and all that but he saw something else--' 

'Why do you gotta deconstruct everything?' Jesse says hurriedly, before Badger can start off on one of those monologues which infuriate Emilio. 'It's art, okay? It doesn't always need explaining. Isn't that enough?' 

Emilio scoffs. 'You're turning this into something gay. Shut up.' 

Jesse stiffens. 'I'm not,' he says. He reaches for the can of spray paint. 'Look, I'll just do it right this time, bitches.' 

'Who gives a shit?' says Emilio. 

'Yeah, exactly!' says Badger. 'Who gives a shit about _anything_?' 

'Shut up.' 

Badger does so, but Jesse knows he's in for another session of Badger's Home Truths About Emilio later. For a cool guy, Emilio really is a prick sometimes. But, Jesse considers, that's what makes him cool. He decides to explain the paradox theory to Badger later. It sounds all spacey and shit, so he'll probably go along with it. 

~

He doesn't return home until well after dark. He figures his mother won't have left him dinner this time, but he doesn't really care. Emilio has hooked them up with a new product earlier in the day and come nightfall, he's still riding an intense wave of energy and strange, single-minded concentration he hasn't experienced in years. He has no appetite. He just wants to go to his room and draw for hours, maybe finish off that comic book he started months ago--

But of course, his parents hear him come in. He's called into the den for the latest interrogation, but even in his drug-addled mind, he can sense something is wrong when he's told to take a seat, they need to talk. Then again, maybe it's just the drugs. He feels like there's a bug running under his skin; it's hard not to scratch and give the game away as he sits there, willing himself to remain still, as his mother leans into his father's embrace.

His mother has been crying. His heart sinks because he isn't a _psycho_ , he doesn't want to hurt his mom to the point of tears. 

'What's the matter?' he asks, taking a seat at the opposite end of the table. 'I haven't done--' 

His father raises a finger. _Not now._

He leans forward, reaches for her hand. 'What's wrong?' 

'It's Ginny,' she says. 

~

Aunt Ginny has cancer. 

That hateful word, that frightening, terrible word which doesn't belong in his life, not when he's young and happy; not when everything's just beginning and colourful and he feels invincible. His heart sinks in his chest, but his brain won't allow tears, or sleep, or reflection; he spends the night wide awake, abandoning his comic book to read about the various terrifying ways in which the body punishes the soul. 

~ 

'Jesse, sit down!' 

'Jesse, what are you doing now?' 

'Jesse!' 

'Jesse, get out! Just go and wait outside!' 

Mr. White has snapped much earlier than he usually does. It's taken all of 15 minutes for him to send Jesse out of the classroom this time. 

Jesse shuffles to his feet. He knows the routine; stand up, traipse outside, receive a pep talk, come back in. It used to be that the class erupted in cheers and laughter whenever he was called out, but now everyone just looks pissed off. Midterms are coming up, and these losers are suddenly feigning an interest in science. 

He stands in the corridor for several minutes before Mr. White follows him outside. His teacher stands in front of him, arms crossed in judgement. 'Well?' 

'Well, what -- all I was doing was askin' if someone had a pen I could borrow--' 

'Stop it,' snaps Mr. White. His voice is fierce, quiet. 

Jesse looks up at him, then. Mr. White towers over him. He's never really noticed that intensity before, the barely-contained fury in Mr. White's eyes. He shifts uncomfortably under that stare. He's not used to being scrutinsed so closely. Not lately, anyway. 'Okay, chill... geez.' 

'You realize midterms are just around the corner?' says Mr. White. 

'Yeah, I guess.' 

'You guess. You're failing the class. You know that, right?' 

'Yeah.' 

'Stand up straight when I'm talking to you.' 

He does so, and reluctantly raises his chin to look Mr. White in the eyes. 

'Is everything all right?' 

He considers, in one wicked flash, playing on the fact that Aunt Ginny is ill. But even as he swallows, begins to say it, Mr. White's angry, earnest stare causes the lie to die on his tongue. 'Y-yeah. Yeah, I was just... I'll stop, okay?'  


Mr. White considers him for a moment. 'Okay. Then go back to class. But no more clowning around, Pinkman.' 

'Yeah, okay.' 

Mr. White claps him on the shoulder. He always used to do this, back before he'd brought the after-school lessons to a halt because Jesse had finally broken Mr. White's resolve to Save Him From Himself. He pushes open the door and returns to his seat as Mr. White dives right back into the lecture. The girl next to him leans forward. 'Hey,' she whispers. 'I thought you were in real trouble then.' 

'Nah,' says Jesse. 'He's totally gay for me.' 

They both break out into laughter. A girl in front of them turns around, looking irritated. 

'Jesse!' snaps Mr. White. 

~ 

He returns from a great all-nighter to find his parents sitting at the kitchen table. 

'Jesse,' says his father. 'Please come in here. We're having a family meeting.' 

'Aww, c'mon!' he protests, but he does as he's told. His parents sit across the table from him, their expressions so serious that he is startled. 'Is Aunt Ginny okay?' 

'She's fine,' says his father. 'Look, this is about -- did you take 20 dollars from your mother's purse?' 

Jesse exhales slowly. An emergency family meeting for this? 'Yeah,' he says. 'Yeah, I needed like lunch money.' 

'You took it last night,' says his mother. 

'Yeah, for lunch.' 

She shakes her head, her expression pleading. 'But it's Sunday.' 

'Jesus, just stop it outta my allowance if you're going to have a _heart attack_ about it or something.' 

'That's not the point!' says his father firmly. 'The point is you were underhand about it. The point is, you lied.' 

'I didn't lie, actually, because I didn't say anything. So it was more lying by emission.' 

'Omission,' he counters. He lowers his head, makes a steeple out of his fingers. 

Jesse's eyes widen: the steeple is never a good sign. There is an uncomfortable silence which lingers; he casts a glance at his mother, who is staring at the table, her own hands clasped tightly together. 

'We've talked with Ginny,' says his father at last. 'Perhaps it would be better if you stayed with her for a while.' 

'Well, yeah, I've been staying there a lot lately anyway. I guess I could stay there a couple weeks, maybe.' 

'We were thinking on a more... permanent basis.' 

His mother darts a furtive, guilty look at her husband; Jesse catches it. He hasn't been overly shocked or hurt by any of this conversation, but the conspiratorial air infuriates him. 'Hold up,' he says. 'You're _kicking_ me out?' 

'Please. We're not kicking you out onto the street.' 

'Is this what you're going to do to Jake? You turn 18, that's it, everything's done, get out?' 

'We've put up with these antics for four years now,' says his father. 'God knows you don't need our support for school. We received a letter from Mr. White in the post this morning.' 

That fucking snitch! 

'You're clowning around in class at 18? Really, now?' 

'It wasn't like that--' 

His father sighs. 'Of course, the teacher is lying.' 

Jesse slams his open palm on the table. 'And that's another thing, okay. Why don't you look at me?' 

'What are you talking about--' his mother begins, her eyes (blue, wide open and wondering -- he gets his own startling gaze from her) darting to him. 

'Not you,' he says. 'Him.' He points an accusing finger. 

'Enough,' says his father. 'We're not doing this!' He waves his hand in the direction of the stairs. 'Jesse, go and pack your stuff. I want this done before Jake gets back.' 

'Right, right!' he says, standing up and kicking the chair away from him. He enjoys his mother's wince at that. 'We don't want Jake to see what you're really like, huh?' 

'I'd say he's looked into the abyss plenty enough lately,' his father says quietly. 

'Yeah, well, anyway...' Jesse begins, leaning forward belligerently. But the words won't come. He can't think of a worthy rejoinder until hours later, sprawled on the couch at aunt Ginny's, nursing a conciliatory beer. 

'I don't think "shove the abyss up your ass" would have helped any,' says Ginny. 

He drums his fingers against the beer bottle sullenly. 'It has a certain ring to it.' 

~  
  
  
On Monday, he decides to start off on a good foot and go to school. He saunters down to the kitchen and fixes himself some cereal, sitting at the table where Aunt Ginny is sorting through a stack of papers. 

'Here,' she says, holding out an envelope to him. 'Give this letter to the administrators or whatever the hell they are.' She waves her hand when she sees the frown on his face. 'Don't give me that look. Do you want my sister and Adam to receive any more letters about what a little bastard you are?' 

'No,' he concedes. He takes the letter from her and shoves it deep into the pocket of his jeans. He shovels some corn pops into his mouth. 'Do you tinkm badad?' 

'Huh?' 

He swallows. 'Do you really think I'm a bastard?' 

She laughs, pats his hand. 'If I thought you really were, you wouldn't be here. Go to school.' She smiles as he kisses her cheek. 'Be good.' 

'Yeah, yeah,' he says, heading for the door.

~  
  
  
The fourth box is nearly finished. He's pleased with it. He's sanded it down just right, applied lacquer, smoothed it down. All that is required now-- 

He frowns, blinking in horror when he notices the crack along the left side. It's barely noticeable, but he knows it will increase over time, its imperfection more and more evident, until one day the entire stupid thing will fall apart. He dispenses with the box in a rage, starts on the fifth. 

Mr. Pike folds his arms and watches. Jesse glares at him, daring him to say something. Instead, Mr. Pike gives him the slightest nod, and then turns away.


	3. Chapter 3

'Have you studied for this?' asks Mr. White, placing a test paper in front of him.

'Uh, yeah.' He nods his head. 'Of course!' He grabs the paper and gives Mr. White his most charming smile. 'I totally take my academic career seriously, Mr. White. And you know, thanks for the letter. My parents and I had a nice talk about that.'

Mr. White pauses. His eyes narrow. 'Are you being sarcastic?'

'Why? Why would I do that?' he says, unable to contain the laughter which rises in him. 'Geez, I'm just being grateful.'

His teacher casts him a look which he parses immediately as disappointment -- it's always disappointment from adults these days. No, it's not even disappointment. It's something more volatile. Outrage, that's the word. Jesse is baffled. What did Mr. White expect? That he'd be thankful for the stupid letter, the further ammunition it gave his parents? Is he for _real_ with this? He regards the paper sullenly as Mr. White finishes handing out the papers, returns to his desk and informs the class that they have 40 minutes and may begin.

Miserable bastard.

The first question may as well be in German, for all he understands it. He draws a smiling face as his answer.

Question two: Define the term _"binary compound"_

He considers, begins his answer: _binary compound means:_

What the fuck is a binary compound?

Question three: _what describes the number and types of atoms in a compound?_

He raises his head, stares at the ceiling tiles. He wonders if he could pop one open, crawl through it. That'd be neat. He looks back down at the paper. What a stupid question! He writes his answer: _I Don't Remember AKA I Forgot_

Question four: _List the names and formulas for the three exceptions to the binary naming rules_

_1\. I_

_2\. Don't_

_3\. Care_

Question five: _What type of compound has three elements, one electropositive and the others an electronegative group?_

What? He reads it back over again, glances out of the window, looks over at Mr. White sitting there at his desk. _HI!_ he writes.

Question 6: _What suffixes are used to name the polyatomic group in a ternary compound, and what is the relationship between the suffixes and the oxidation state?_

For fuck's sake. He decides to answer this question with a more pertinent question: _Why do I need to know this_?

He stares at the test paper, writes a few more half-assed answers, then spends the next half an hour daydreaming. Chemistry tests aren't so bad. He should really start turning up for class more.

 

~

The coughing is sharp, rude, lonely. He jerks awake, his eyes widening and then narrowing to tired slits.

She's in the bathroom down the hall, sounding for all the world as if she is coughing up her lungs. He hates the night because it strips back her warm humour and her gruffness, and she's a frightened, middle-aged woman gagging over a toilet bowl while everyone else is asleep. He wants to go to her, comfort her, but she doesn't like it when he makes a fuss, doesn't like to think that she's dragged him from sleep. She doesn't like him to see what she really is now: a dying animal, ravaged by its own body.

In the next room, there is the creak of her bed as she settles down again. She wheezes for breath, and there is the puff of an inhaler. He listens in the darkness as she quietens down. It takes an age; her chest rattles as if she's possessed. That word he'd learned from the self-help pamphlet comes to mind: _metastasis_.

 

~

A neighbour visits Tijuana and brings back a package of bizarre green-coloured drinks from some health clinic down there. The packaging boasts of antioxidants and chlorophyll ('Yo, isn't that what they use to knock people out?') and Ginny, who once held her own in a legendary two-week argument with Jesse's mom about why Jake needed his vaccinations, refuses to entertain the idea. She shoves the box into the laundry room.

The night-time coughing gets worse. She starts to pace the house, and though she keeps the television low and moves about as stealthily as she can, he lies awake listening to the floorboards creak under her weight. It maddens him, to imagine a night where he _won't_ hear that familiar noise. He's afraid, deeply afraid, because for the first time in his life, it dawns on him that loving somebody is always destined to turn into a curse.

One evening, she places their dinner plates on the table and then shuffles off to the laundry room. She returns with one of those wretched drinks and places it quietly on the table.

'Yo, what the--' he begins.

'Don't', she says in a tone laced with quiet malice, a tone he's never heard her use before.

He holds her gaze, considers. 'All I was going to say, actually, was that this lasagne is _awesome_ .'

Ginny casts him a grateful smile.

 

~

She borrows a book about healing food and drink. The next day, she buys a blender and offers Jesse a taste of some disgustingly worthy concoction composed of broccoli, carrots and weird vegetables he's never even heard of before. It's horrible, and he has to drink a whole can of Pepsi to get rid of the rancid taste of mushy vegetables out of his mouth, while she laughs at him and tells him that he'll change his mind when he's 30. 

She starts getting up later and later of a day. He doesn't like to disturb her by checking in on her constantly, so he takes to making her drinks with the blender, following the recipes in the book. He comes to enjoy taking on the more challenging concoctions, rooting through the fresh section at Whole Foods to find stupid-sounding food like kale and goji berries.

Ginny never tells him when she does or doesn't like something, but he watches her face closely when she drinks whatever he serves up. If she doesn't like it, she'll rush to tell him how proud she is of him. He mentally crosses ingredients from his list, rejects those recipes which don't do well. When she likes the drinks, she'll pause, the ghost of a smile playing at her mouth.

He loves her intensely in these moments; he can't help it when his face flushes with pride. It makes cleaning the goddamned blender worth it.

 

~

It's the most beautiful thing he has ever created.

The box is as smooth as glass. He dips the cloth into tung oil and carefully rubs the oil into the wood, caressing it lovingly. The wood changes to a deeper, firmer hue beneath his touch; the smell from the oil and the wood is heady. It smells good -- good in the pure, honest sense. It's a labour of love.

Mr. Pike gazes down at the box approvingly. 'Well done, Mr. Pinkman. Very well done.'

He nods gratefully. He can't keep staring at the box. His mother is going to love it.

 

~

 

'This is good shit,' says Badger. He lights up the joint and takes a long drag, before passing it to Jesse.

'Thanks, man.' Jesse loves hanging out at Badger's house. Badger's parents aren't half the pains in the ass that his own parents are, and they're chill with leaving Badger to do as he pleases, as long he doesn't shove it in their faces. Jesse can respect that. Badger leans back against the couch and becomes immersed in his space TV show again. They sit in companionable silence, passing the joint between one another. Jesse barely listens to the show, lost in his own thoughts.

'... _There was one guard. I don't remember her face. She never told me her name. She told me a legend about how Sebaceans once had a god called... Djancaz-bru. Six worlds prayed to her. They built her temples, conquered planets and yet, one day she still rose up and destroyed all six worlds. And when the last warrior was dying, he... he said: 'We gave you everything. Why did you destroy us?' And, she looked down upon him, and she whispered... 'Because I can_.'

'That's deep, man,' says Badger. He rewinds the speech, which irritates the fuck out of Jesse because he's _always_ doing that. Badger will keep rewinding it until Jesse listens and agrees it's totally Shakespeare.

Just so Badger will get off his ass, he nods along to the goddamned speech, and doesn't even shout in frustration when his friend pauses the DVD and turns to him, his expression earnest. 'Seriously, dude,' says Badger. 'I was thinking about this and you remember that film we watched? Donnie Darko?'

'Which one?'

'The one with the plane. And the time travel?' Badger clicks his fingers. 'C'mon, and the giant rabbit!'

Jesse frowns. 'Yeah, yeah. The rabbit.'

'Well, it's totally like what they say in that, isn't it?'

'What?'

'Destruction is a form of creation. That's what Donnie says. So I get thinking when I watch this now, and I don't think it's just about her wanting to destroy everything, the goddess, I mean. She's kind of _creating_ when she's _destroying_.' Badger takes the cigarette from Jesse and takes a long draw, moans happily. 'Ah, that's good. Yeah. Yeah, creation in destruction.'

He scowls. 'I don't know. If you knock down your house, you've destroyed a pretty decent house, right? Maybe she just didn't know what she was destroying. Maybe she just sorta had to cover her tracks, 'cos how stupid would she look if she came back to them later and was all, "I didn't think it would end like this?"'

Badger stares at him, his face a mask. 'Nah,' he says after a while. 'Mine makes more sense.'

'Fuck you and your sense. You're looking into the abyss.'

'What?'

'And give me that!' he says, snatching the cigarette from Badger. 'Just play the rest of the show, will ya? We'll be here all week.'

 

~

 

It's a dull Tuesday morning in Chemistry class. He doesn't want to be here. He really doesn't give a shit about this stupid class, or school in general now. What is the point when you can be like Emilio and make more money in a week than a person could earn in a year in some crappy desk job? All that studying, for what? To be like Mr. White here, jerking off to chemicals and bunsen burners five days a week for 40 years?  

He's rudely pulled from his surly thoughts when Mr. White himself stands in front of Jesse and slams down his test paper. 'Well done, Pinkman. You've outdone yourself!' His voice drips with contempt.

Oh, the test paper. Right. Jesse is tickled to imagine Mr. White's outrage at his answers, but the smile fades from his face when he sees the dramatic, firm red strokes of anger across half the page: **_RIDICULOUS! APPLY YOURSELF!_**

He scowls, refuses to meet Mr. White's angry gaze. Eventually, his teacher moves on, handing out the rest of the papers. He turns to commiserate with the girl who sits next to him, but she is beaming with pride, reading through a test paper marked with a B. 'All right, class. In the main, that wasn't a bad effort,' says Mr. White, returning to the front of the room. 'Take out your books and turn to chapter 23. Today, we'll be studying--'

Jesse flips the paper over, pulls a pencil out of his bag and, studying Mr. White's face, begins to draw.

 

THE END

 

 

Thanks for reading! I really hope you liked it. Jesse's full test paper answers as seen in the show[ can be read here](http://tvtop100.com/breaking-bad/moments/97).


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